A Soldiers Path
by Johnlocksinthetardis
Summary: What begins as a new-found love between Sherlock and John in the year of 1996 quickly turns into something far more delicate when John is drafted in the Afghan war. The two boys both think goodbye is only temporary, but their lives become fraught with danger and pain. This is the story of two boys who hold a love as sweet as a melody,a never ending tune,sung throughout the decades.
1. Cup of Coffee

**1996, England.**

Nineteen year old Sherlock stood leaning against the doors of Oxford University's cafeteria, a cigarette between his lips. He surveyed the room with quiet boredom, his eyes roaming over the laughing students. He analysed them all, the words popping into his mind as he looked at each one in turn. Hundreds of them, thousands of words and facts swirling round behind his eyes. Sighing, he looked down at his feet and took another drag.

"Holmes." Said a rough voice. "I don't believe you're allowed to smoke in here."

Sherlock lifted his head wearily. It was Jonah Parkson, older than Sherlock by only a year or two. He was studying Literature, and Sherlock knew he was smart. But not as smart as him.

"I'm not." He said, blowing the smoke out quietly.

Jonah took a step closer and tensed. "Get out, then."

When Sherlock made no move, Jonah grabbed a fistful of his blazer and yanked him closer, their heads bent together. "Listen here, you creepy little fuck. I don't know how you know all this shit about everyone, but you get better get the fuck out of my way and _stay_ out my way."

Sherlock gave him an easy smile, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. "Careful, Jonah. Don't want people thinking you're kissing me, would we? That would be awfully bad for my reputation."

Jonah dropped him and stepped back, his two friends at his side. His face fumed and he slammed Sherlock against the door frame, watching the cigarette fall to the floor. "Don't try to fuck with me. We all know you're the queer one."

Sherlock flinched, but covered it up. He set his steely gaze on Jonah, his voice steady. "Asexual, thank you very much."

Paul, Jonah's right hand man, leaned forward, his chestnut hair shining under the bright lights of the cafeteria. People looked on by them- this was a usual sight. Every day, maybe every second day if Sherlock was lucky, they'd find him, and torment him. "Fag. No wonder your dorm member moved out- I would too if I had you looking at me getting changed."

Sherlock grit his teeth. It was true, Drew did move out. But it wasn't because of that. In fact, he'd almost gotten along with Drew, more than Sherlock had with anyone else. One day, Sherlock had come back to find Drew clutching a handful of the men's magazines that Sherlock hid in his pillowcase, his face blank. He remembered trying to take them off him, brush it off as some kind of accident, but Drew wasn't fooled.

_"What the fuck, Sherlock?" He said, eyes wide._

_Sherlock frowned and ripped them from Drew's hands, his face blushing. "What were you doing looking through my stuff?"_

_Drew retreated far away from him, backing up against his wardrobe. "It's wrong! It's wrong! You fucking fag!"_

_"And yet, you're the one who feels she's trapped in the wrong body." He said simply, his words going softer. _

_"H-How...you're lying! Stop it!" He screamed, hands reaching out to fling anything at Sherlock._

_Sherlock whipped his head round sharply. "Don't tell my secret, and I wont tell yours. Please."_

_Drew looked at him, scrambling to the door. "Stay the fuck away from me."_

Sherlock remembered how the rumors spread like wildfire about him, and suddenly, it was as if he had the plague. People avoided him even more, purposefully keeping their eyes away from him. Even teachers tried to stay away from him when they could, any eye contact immediately broken. That's when the teasing had started. 'Fag' and 'queer' were some of the student's favourite words to hurl at him, and he often found they'd scribbled things like 'cock-sucker' on his dorm door whenever he came back from the library. But he never told Mycroft, and he never would.

"I never looked at him." Sherlock said, the words barely escaping his mouth. He could tell Drew's secret right now, and Lord knows the bastard deserved it, but he bit his tongue. "Contrary to what you think I don't see every guy as another shag!"

Jonah scoffed. "Another shag? As if anyone's ever shagged you, you fucking creep."

Sherlock looked at him through steely eyes, watching as Jonah and his crew backed off, walking away like nothing happened. He held his body straight and stiffly walked around, running a hand though his unruly head of curly black hair. He'd miss the rest of today's classes, he could catch up. He was sick of people, so sick of them and their stupid words. Pulling another cigarette out of his pocket, Sherlock lit it and walked away, not paying attention to where he was going. He walked until he was off campus, the busy streets enveloping him like a blanket of familiarity. He looked down at his feet in anger, and then suddenly, he slammed into him.

John reeled back, the force of the tall boy nearly sending him flying. He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, steadying them both. He was a head taller than John, and it was only when he lifted his head that he saw how truly stunning he was. His eyes were light blue, like ice over a lake, glistening with the same coldness, and his cheekbones were so prominent John thought he could cut his fingers in he touched them. His skin was pale and clear, and on his head was a mop of unruly black hair. He was gorgeous. John coughed and withdrew his hands, trying to keep them still at his sides. "Sorry about that."

Sherlock shook his head and cleared his throat. He'd managed to keep his cigarette in his hand this time, his fingers curling around it tightly. "No, sorry. It was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

John crossed his arms, and Sherlock could see his muscles press against the material. This guy was buff. "It's fine, honestly. I'm John."

Sherlock sighed and nodded politely. "Sherlock."

"Sherlock? That's a weird name." He said lightly, interest in his eyes.

Sherlock went to move away. He had no idea why he was still talking to the blonde haired boy, he didn't usually socialize with people. Most weren't even on his intellectual level anyway. There was no point wasting time here. "Yeah, thanks. I'll be going now."

John shot out his hand before he even realised what he was doing. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's arm, stopping him from walking away. Quicker than a blink, he whirred back round, staring at John's hand, which he hastily removed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine. Now, if you don't mind, I'm in a shit mood and I'd like to walk away, so please let me this time." Sherlock's voice was weary.

John bit his lip, and Sherlock felt something stir inside him. John was noting particularly special, but Sherlock had to admit- he had a certain something about him. A sense of toughness, strength. Energy. His skin was pale and his hair was sticking up in random tufts, like he's ran his hands through it. Although he was small, he had an athletic build, and his eyes were easy-going and deep blue, sparkling with amusement.

"Yeah, of course. Or, I could, you know, buy you a coffee." John said, and Sherlock felt his eyes narrowing. Why would he do that? What was in it for John?

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but by social protocol, shouldn't I be buying you one? I walked into you. Why would you buy me one?" He said, his voice slightly curious.

John gave a light laugh. "I'll let it slide. Besides, you said you're in a shit mood. Coffee cheers me us when I'm in a shitty mood."

"Why would a beverage cheer you up when you're sad?" Sherlock asked, a dark eyebrow raised.

John shook his head in exasperation. "Okay, so maybe it doesn't. Look, do you want a coffee or not?"

Sherlock looked around him, those ice eyes scanning everything. He was certain nobody from his University was here, but the place held thousands, more than Sherlock could afford to remember. Finally, he looked back to John, those deep blue eyes staring into his expectantly. "I can't, I'm sorry. I need to get away from here."

John's face fell slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

Sherlock groaned quietly. Why did he feel bad? What was this? He'd never before been subjected to these feelings before, but now guilt was a coiled rope inside him, sitting heavy in his stomach. Sighing, he stuck a hand out for a taxi and when it arrived, he opened it's door. "You can come, too. I'm going to London."

John considered this and smiled, a great big grin, flashing a dimple. "Okay."

Without really knowing what he was doing, John climbed inside the taxi. He knew absolutely nothing about this boy, yet here he was, in a taxi with him, heading to London. The journey was silent, until John couldn't bear it.

"So," He said. "Tell me about yourself."

Sherlock tilted his head, questioning his own actions. Why _had_ he let John in the cab with him? He was a stranger, he could be dangerous, yet he offered him a ride to London. Maybe he wanted to John to be dangerous- his life was like a song on repeat, never any change. He _wanted_ change. Still, this wasn't how Sherlock acted. He didn't just invite boys with him, even if they had deep blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Realizing John was still waiting on an answer, Sherlock sighed.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, I'm 19. I play the violin, I'm a student at Oxford University, and I'm a genius." He said simply, no tone to his voice.

John nodded, slightly taken aback. "Really? Oxford? Really? You must be rich."

Sherlock shrugged. "My mother's a Mathematician. She's smart, and she teaches at Cambridge. I'd hardly say we're rich."

John pursed his lips and smiled, causing an unfamiliar fluttering to occur in Sherlock's stomach, which he vehemently pushed away. What the hell was going on? Was he unwell? John's soft voice caught his attention. "What are you studying?"

"Criminology and psychology." He said, resting his chin on his hand.

John gave a low whistle of appreciation. "Smart." _And stunning._ "That's gotta be hard."

Shrugging, he deflected John's praise. "It's alright. Not particular what I'd like to be doing with my time, but at least it keeps me occupied."

John laughed, and the sound lifted Sherlock's mood slightly. "Let me guess, you get bored if you're not doing something."

"No," said Sherlock, looking at John. "I get bored if I'm not thinking."

"Are you bored now?" John said, interested. The truth was, the dark haired boy intrigued him, with his deep voice and horrid people skills. He was something new, something different. John liked it.

"No." Sherlock found himself saying, surprised at his own answer. But he wasn't, not really. He hadn't ever held a conversation this long with no insults for a very, very long time, and he found that it wasn't as awful as he'd thought.

John's mouth quirked and he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. "Okay. Don't you wanna know more about me?"

"I have everything I need to know about you." He said quietly. This was the part where it all went wrong; he could feel it. So many times he'd done this and each time he'd been shunned, ridiculed. What was it to lose another person? It shouldn't even affect him- everyone left him.

John's eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"No, no, it does! What do you mean?" His tone was not harsh, but gentle, curious.

Sighing, Sherlock shifted his weight and faced him. "Trust me, it doesn't matter. Look, we're here. Come on."

Scrambling out the taxi, John flung a twenty down and raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. "What? It's on me."

Baffled, they walked, John letting Sherlock lead the way. He still found it strange that he was following the boy, but he didn't feel in any danger. Even though he was wiry, John was stockily built, and felt he could hold his own if Sherlock turned out to be a raging psychopath.

They pushed open the door to a coffee shop and sat down, facing each other. The waitress came over, her pale brown hair held up in a ponytail. "What can I get you?"

"Erm, coffee, milk. You?" John nodded at Sherlock.

"Coffee, black, two sugars." He said curtly, turning his attention back to John.

Shooting him a smile, John clasped his hands and set them on the table. "Since you wont say what you know about me, I'll tell you, and you can see if you've got it right."

Sherlock nodded, humoring him. "Fine."

"I'm John Watson, and I'm also nineteen. I have a sister, Harriet, who's a little bit off the rails just now. I live on my own, in a small dingy apartment, but it's better than living with the parents. I'm studying to be a doctor, and in my spare time I work at the Old Folk's home, as well as some quick shifts in the library. I'm not particularly musical, I can't sing very well and most of my clothes are rather uncool. But they're comfy, so I don't care..." Grinning, he fluttered his eyes at Sherlock. "I'm an Aries, and I love long walks on the beach-"

Sherlock snorted and slipped John a slight smile. It felt good to laugh, he hadn't done that in a long time. He felt that fluttering feeling in his stomach again and frowned slightly- what the hell was that?

John leaned forward on his elbows. "What's up?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. Just...an unusual feeling, that's all." He said quietly. "Something new."

"Isn't new good?" John asked.

"Occasionally..." Sherlock pushed the black curls away from his face and caught John's eye. He wished John would stop staring at him; he got enough of that at University.

Just then, the woman came over, handing them two coffees. She smiled at John and passed him a note, before winking and walking back to the counter, her hair swishing behind her.

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee and shrugged, it was okay. He raised his eyebrow as the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, clearly disinterested. "Clearly her number."

Giving a faint smile, John took a sip of his coffee. "Clearly."

For some reason, that smile had Sherlock furrowing his brows, trying to figure out John's dismissal of the note. As far as he could tell, the girl was pretty, and she seemed interested. He wondered if John had a type of girl that he preferred. After finishing their coffee, Sherlock was surprised to find himself happier. The rage inside him had died down, and he felt close to being relaxed. It was an unusual feeling, he wasn't entirely sure he liked it yet.

Standing up, Sherlock cleared his throat. "So, the waitress.."

"What about her?" John chuckled, his fingers twirling the note around. He placed a five pound note on the table underneath the mug.

"Are you going to call her?" He asked. It didn't feel so much like forced politeness anymore, he was beginning to actually like John. He wasn't stuck up, or pompous or crude...of course that could all change if he found out about Sherlock.

That grin growing wider, John shook his head. "Nope. I have a certain type, she's not it."

"Oh." Sherlock pushed his chair in and lifted his head. "What is your type? Asian? Red-heads?"

John walked over to the bin, dropping the note in it. "Men."

Sherlock blanched. He couldn't find the words, they seemed to be stuck in his throat. Giving a quick cough, he tried to start a sentence again and again, but never quick managed to make it past the first couple of stutters.

John groaned and tilted his head. "Fuck, you're homophobic, aren't you?"

Sherlock tried to speak, but all that came out was a baffled chuckle. "No, no I'm not...It's just-"

"Just what?" He asked curiously.

"I...you're um," Sherlock rubbed his head. "You're gay."

"No shit, Sherlock." John muttered. "Was there a point to that statement?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock tried again. "Yes! Yes, I was trying to say that, that I am, too. And I have no idea why I've just told you that..."

John gave a grin. They were outside on the street now, the people too busy to care about their conversation. "Must be my lucky day. I'm guessing you're not out yet."

Sherlock shook his head. "You are?"

"To a selected few. I've got to keep it a secret or being a Doctor could get hell of a lot harder." John said quietly.

"Oh." Sherlock bent his head. "Everybody avoids me at school, because of the rumors. Which wouldn't actually be that bad, if it weren't for the 'queer' and 'fag' name-calling every two seconds."

John bristled. "I hate that word."

"I've gotten used to it." Sherlock murmured, his thoughts drifting. He felt somewhat relieved at finding someone the same as him, someone he didn't have to hide from. But John was lively and tough and funny, a new challenge that Sherlock got to learn about. He was different from the people who filled the hours of Sherlock's life, and he was glad of this change. Suddenly, the thought that John would go away again occurred to him and he stopped, his words hesitant.

"John, I, uh.." Sherlock coughed. "I'd like to become better acquainted, if that's all right. I despise the people in my life these days- it'd be nice to have someone who's not an arrogant, genius git."

"Such a way with words." John mused, an easy smile spreading across his face. He pulled a receipt out from his pocket and a pen from the other, writing his number down quickly. He handed the paper to Sherlock and flogged down a taxi, his eyes alive with humor. "Drop me a call, tall boy."

As John drove away, Sherlock held the receipt in his pale hand, staring at it with slight disbelief. Not only had he actually talked to someone without despising them within the first ten minutes, he'd gotten halfway to making a friend. Unbelievable. "Oh, John Watson. That's exactly what I plan to do."


	2. Library meet

Sherlock sat in his empty dorm, the walls bare except from a poster of all the elements. He had a desk pushed off to the far side, cluttered with pens and unfinished papers, a few stray books lying abandoned. He sat on his bed, the cotton sheets only slightly lighter than his skin. His room was quiet, but he didn't mind- there wasn't much music he could really listen to without his mind begging for something else. He preferred to write his own. The receipt sat in his hand, and he stared at it apprehensively, the ticks of the clock appearing to get louder and louder the longer he stared at it. It felt strange in his hand, and he began to wonder. What exactly did he feel for John? He didn't exactly know if it was romantic, all he knew was that John intrigued him, and that he was something else. Sherlock could have most people sussed out within a minute, know things about them within one conversation, but John...John was different. A completely new puzzle for him to discover. So should he call him? The silence of the room filled Sherlock's ears and he groaned quietly. How soon could you call them? A day? More? He didn't know how long the other people waited.

"Two days." He said slowly. "I'll call him in two days."

Sherlock managed four hours before he reached for the phone. His fingers pressed the buttons hurriedly and he held the phone to his ear, hearing it wring out. Finally, John answered, his voice quiet.

"Hello?"

Sherlock coughed, his throat suddenly seeming dry. Why had he called him? What happened to two days? "Yes, erm, John. Hi."

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed quietly, a happy tone to his voice. "It's only been six hours."

"Yes." Sherlock felt his face turn red and cursed mentally- he felt, for once, stupid. He didn't like the feeling. "I-I'm sorry. I-"

"No, no, it's fine. I never liked having to wait anyway." John said, chuckling quietly. "What's up?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Sherlock's brows furrowed; he really should have thought this out more. "I'd like to meet up again."

"Okay, when?" The quiet voice on the other line said.

"Soon. Social rules would say I should wait a few days, but I find it only logical to meet again quickly."

Another chuckle. "I'm at the library."

"What one?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Guess." John's voice was playful.

Just a bit shocked, Sherlock blinked. "Sorry?"

"If you can guess the right library by, say...seven, then you'll find me."

"Are you playing games with me, John?" Sherlock's voice was carefully intrigued as he thought about it. John was full of surprises.

"You're only happy when you're thinking. So think for me, genius." John said playfully.

A slow smile spreading across his lips, Sherlock tilted his head, his voice low. "What makes you think I'm going to find you? Or that I want to?"

"Because you can't refuse a challenge. See you in an hour, smart boy." John's voice said, and then he hung up.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, a quiet laugh escaping his lips. Again, the sound seemed foreign to him, but he welcomed it. Standing up, Sherlock put the receipt in his pocket and took a deep breath, his eyes closing. He mapped out London, the sight of every library spilling into his mind. The National Archives? No. Saint Bride? No, too artsy for John. London Metropolitan Archives, The Women's Library, British Library...no, no, no! Sherlock cast these ones aside, his eyes twitching ever so slightly. Westminster Reference Library. N- wait, _yes. _That was it, that was the library. He gasped and opened his eyes, almost certain he'd got it right. Flinging his gaze down to hit watch, he was glad to see he still had 55 minutes left. The corner of his lip turned up, he opened the door to his dorm and walked out, the stares for once not bothering him.

Sherlock pushed the doors to the library open, glancing at his watch. Three minutes to spare, he could do this. This was the right one, he was sure of it. With a deep breath, his long legs took off in a stride, searching for John. He'd have to be somewhere visible, where Sherlock could see him straight away. The cafe? No- too many people. Somewhere quieter. The lounge? Yes, he'd go there. Walking towards the sitting area, he stood quietly, shooting his watch a look. One minute left. He'd show up- Sherlock knew he would. He'd gotten it right, this was where he was. The minute ticked by and Sherlock felt himself sag in disappointment. He was wrong. He lost the challenge. He didn't get John. Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, determined to get by it. He hated being wrong, he was so used to being right.

"Hello, genius."

Sherlock turned round to see a muscled boy with sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes, a smile upon his face.

Sherlock felt himself smile a little. He _was_ right. "I won the challenge."

John strode up to him, tilting is head up. "You did. I didn't think you would, but you did. Amazing. How'd you do it?"

Sherlock felt himself warm up inside. _Amazing._ Nobody had ever called him amazing before, it was always 'freak' or 'creep'. Amazing was new, and it sent a warm feeling through his body. "I deducted."

"Deducted?" John asked, his lips parted slightly.

Sherlock found himself staring at those lips, and noticing how soft they looked. Banishing the thought from his head as quickly as it entered, he cleared his throat. "Yes. Deducing. I notice the tiny details, the things that are there but people miss. I can tell so much about a person simply from their outfit, or the way they stand. I have the whole of London mapped out in my head, and everything sorted into files, shall we say. It's organised, and I call it my Mind Palace. It's where I need to go if I have to think deeply about something, eliminate factors, etc...everything I find important, I store in there."

John looked up with appreciation and awe in his eyes. "You...are incredible. What about things you don't find important?"

"I delete them." Sherlock was finding it hard to breathe with John so close. There he was again, with his words, their foreignness wrapping round him.

"Delete?" John watched Sherlock with interest; he'd never seen someone so smart, so hidden.

"Get rid of them. Once I've deleted something, I can't remember it afterwards." He whispered.

John tilted his head. "Would you ever delete me?"

"No." The word flew out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about it. Blushing furiously, he tried to take a step back, but John's hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. "Wait. You won the challenge, which means you get a prize."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What do I get?"

"This." John leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek, feeling him stiffen beneath him.

Sherlock pushed him off gently, trying not to make a scene. "Please don't."

Curious, John squinted. "Why."

"Because I am not what you want or need." He said seriously. _I'm broken._

"Since when do you get to decide what I want?" He said, a tone of fire in his voice.

"Everyone gets to know me, and everyone leaves. I don't want that happening again. So, for the sake of another broken friendship, or relationship, I suggest you just...don't."

John looked at him, a sad smile on his face. "I won't leave you. Contrary to what you think, you interest me. I can't get you out of my head, and it's barely been a day since we met. I'm not asking for everything, but give me a chance, Sherlock. I won't push you away."

Sherlock closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe those words, but he couldn't. He wouldn't let himself. Emotions only hurt you in the end- it was better to just shut them off whenever you could. But still, hope was a seed inside him, begging for the chance to grow. "We barely know each other. If you really got to know me, you wouldn't like me, John. I'm...different."

"You're lonely. A sad, lonely genius, but you're brilliant all the same. I want to have the choice to get to know you, Sherlock. Give me that chance." John said, his eyes pleading.

Sherlock cast a wary look around, then back to John. "Let's go somewhere else. This is too public for me, I don't want anyone seeing."

John nodded, pulling out a pair of car keys from his pocket. "My apartment?"

Sherlock stared at the keys uncertainly, indecision growing inside him. John sighed, exasperated. "I'm not going to murder you."

"I know." Sherlock said quietly. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

As they walked out side by side, John walked to his car and opened the door for Sherlock, chuckling at the wary expression on his face. Climbing in beside him, he leaned over and whispered in Sherlock's ear, his voice soft. "It's a good thing I like different."


	3. Johns appartment

They drove without talking, the music of John's CD's filling the silence between them. He nodded slightly, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel in the tat-te-tat-tat of accompaniment. Sherlock looked out the window, but found that his eyes often drifted toward the sandy blonde boy's face, noticing the way his lip turned up when he caught him staring. Sherlock frowned slightly and looked back out the window, not wanting to give John the impression he was looking at him. John laughed, and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

His blue eyes shone with amusement. "Relax. I don't mind if you were looking at me."

Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes piercing in their gaze. "I wasn't staring. I was observing."

"Same thing." John withdrew his hand and used it to turn down the volume so they could be heard easier.

"No."

John gave a little laugh and shook his head. "Alright."

After a few minutes, Sherlock faced him. "Why do you keep laughing at me?"

"Because you're funny." He said, looking at him for a few seconds, those deep blue eyes soft.

"I am many things, but funny is not what people generally tend to call me." He said quietly, his eyes closing slightly.

John tilted his head and shot a hand out, giving Sherlock's a quick squeeze before pulling away. "Well, I think you're funny. And intriguing. Smart, and just a bit innocent."

"What makes you think I'm innocent?" He said, an almost flirting tone to his voice.

"I don't know." John said thoughtfully. "You just...don't look like you've ever actually been with anyone." Sherlock was silent, and John raised an eyebrow. "Have you?"

"How much longer till we're there?" Sherlock's voice was quiet and he ripped his eyes from John, his face tilted towards the window.

Realising he'd struck a nerve, John gave a nod and looked at the dark-haired man next to him. "Okay, sorry. And...we're here."

John pulled the car to a stop on the pavement and got out, waiting till Sherlock was beside him to lock the car. The building in front of them was tall and pale red, with windows covering the wall facing them. There was balconies attached to the rooms on the top floor, and the roof was flat and black, although Sherlock thought he could see the green of some foliage hanging over the top.

"Right, follow me." John said, the summer night air sending a little chill down his spine.

Sherlock did so, and they walked into the elevator. They got off at the top floor, and John led the way with a smile to room number 143. He placed the key in it and rattled it, pushing the door open with a creak, flicking the lights on as he walked in. Sherlock's footsteps echoed him, and he heard the door shut quietly behind them. Sherlock surveyed the room. It was a mix of vintage and modern, with three walls of pale grey wallpaper with some sort of black flower design on it. The opposite wall was gold and red, with a large fireplace in the centre, with a tall bookcase on either side. There was a few paintings and pictures on some of the book shelves, and a lamp on either side. Two single armchairs sat facing each other, each one furnished with a comfy looking pillow. Behind the furthest one, there was a cluttered desk, full of papers and medical books. To the side, there was a small couch, with another bookcase beside it, also stacked with messily arranged books. The floor was wood and bare, except for the big red rug that covered it, and the living room led into the kitchen, which was pale and white.

"Well?" John asked, something akin to embarrassment in his voice. "I know it's not much, but it's mine."

"It's perfect." Sherlock said absentmindedly, his long tapering fingers trailing over the rough spines of the many books.

"You think?" John's eyes lit up, and he coughed to try and disguise the slither of happiness that sneaked it's way in.

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was soft, and he turned to face John.

"Oh, well...good." John lips quirked up into a smile, and he ran a hand through his hair, making the thick blonde strands to stick up in all random directions. "I mean, it's hard to afford, but I work three jobs to pay for it, so I get by."

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he nodded in appreciation. "That's tough. Um, well done."

Shooting Sherlock a smile that made his stomach flutter, John nodded in thanks. "Yeah, it's hard to fit in around all the studying. My parents pay my fees and stuff for university, but I don't really think they even want to."

Intrigued, he raised a dark eyebrow. "Why?"

John gave a humourless laugh. "They're not exactly...accepting of my life style, shall we say."

"They don't like that you're gay." It was a statement, not a question. Sherlock felt himself soften slightly.

"Do yours?" He asked, giving him a sad smile.

Sherlock stiffened. His parents, he hadn't thought about them in a while. "They...know. They get past it. I think sometimes they want to forget though, the body posture, the look in their eyes...it's complicated."

"Okay." Walking into the kitchen, John called out behind him. "Want some tea?"

"Coffee. Black, two sugars." He said, distracted as he roamed the livingroom, picking up random books and papers then setting them back down.

Coming back in a few minutes later, he handed Sherlock a mug and sat down on the couch, sipping contentedly. "Good?"

Sherlock took a sip, expecting to grimace-nobody could get his coffee right. But to his surprise, it tasted good, and he pursed his lips. "Very good."

"Excellent. That's the poison working then." John winked and gave him a wicked grin.

Feeling his own lips pull into a smile, Sherlock sat down next to John on the couch and relaxed into it. "Oh please, as if you could poison me."

"How would you know? I could be some dangerous mastermind and you'd never know."

"Or," Sherlock added, smirking. "You could be a short bloke in a woolly jumper."

John tried to scowl, but found that he started laughing instead. "Alright, there's no poison. Do tell me though, why'd you come with me? You just met me, it's a dangerous move, a stupid move, for someone as clever as you."

"Oh, I know. But when I want an escape, I get reckless. I go looking for danger. I take rides back to strangers apartment, and I drink their coffee." His voice was light, but there was a certain sadness hidden in it, which he tried to cover up with humour.

John saw right through it. "An escape from what?"

"From this place. This life. The people, the names, the loneliness. I can't find anyone in this word who actually wants to spend time with me, mostly because they presume I'm a dick, but then again it may be because I like dick. Who knows. All I know is that I am alone, and the only person who is actually intelligent enough to talk with me is my brother, and I would rather run through Buckingham Palace naked than have voluntary conversation with him." Sherlock took another sip of his coffee, his leg crossed over the other. He didn't know why he was telling John this. It wasn't his usual behavior. He supposed he was enthralled by John, it was rare to him to find someone who wanted to talk to him. It was a strange feeling.

John's face was a picture of sadness, and before he knew what was happening, he placed his hand over Sherlock's, who stared at it in shock. "I am...so, so sorry. I can't even begin to imagine what's that's like, being trapped inside your own mind. I wish I was smarter, because I really like talking to you, I mean you amuse me and interest me and I've never met anyone like you and-"

"John, please remove your hand." John's words faltered, and he hastily pulled his hand back.

"Sorry." Sherlock gave him a small smile, and intertwined their fingers instead.

"I prefer to hold hands like this." Shocked, John's face broke out into a grin and he felt blush rise into his cheeks.

"I didn't think you did this sort of thing."

"I don't."

"Have you ever...have you ever had the chance?" John said, his hand squeezing Sherlock's gently.

Sherlock tilted his head then sighed, leaning back. He didn't know what this was, he had no idea why he was holding John's hand like he did it every day. This was new, and strange to him- a new experience. So why did it feel normal to him? Despite his visible awkwardness, he found that he liked the feeling of John's hand wrapped around his. "No."

"Okay. That's okay." John said simply.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in confusion. "No teasing?"

"Why would I tease you?"

"Everyone else-"

"Sherlock, I am not like everybody else, okay? Stop expecting the worst from me." John said, almost angry.

"I know." Of course Sherlock knew- he could read people as easy as he could read English. But still, John surprised him. He didn't tease, didn't mock. He acknowledged Sherlock was clever, in fact, he was sure John actually liked that he was so clever. But he could never be sure. Human emotions were foreign to him. A whole new language.

"Look. I like you. And I know you could be a psychopath, and I know that you think I could be one, but I like you. After I got you coffee, all I could think about was you, you and those bloody cheekbones. So, I want to know you. And I want you to know me." John said, scooting closer.

Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes so his long dark lashes brushed against his cheek. "John, it's a bad idea. I'm a bad idea. I have this thing where I just seem to push people away, or hurt them, and I'm oblivious to emotions. I'm inexperienced, I'm a dick, and my head is a dark, dark place. Being with me is dangerous, John. I mean that. So if you value anything about your life now, show me the door. Delete my number, and don't speak to me again."

John seemed to consider this for a second, before his grim lips pulled into a smile. "I've always fancied a bit of danger."

Sherlock had braced himself for the goodbye, and the harsh shove out the door. When what John actually said registered, he whipped his head round in shock. "What?"

"I don't care. I like you, and I'm not going to give up so easily. So tell me more about yourself." John said simply, his deep blue eyes staring into his.

Sherlock bowed his head and brought it back up again, nodding. "Okay. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I've been expelled from four schools when I was a child, my brother is an annoying twat who's smarter than me, I like the colour purple and I like to dance. I don't have much tolerance for those who don't hold my attention for long, and I have the bad habit of not knowing what is socially acceptable to say."

John gave a little smirk. "Four?"

"My teachers were idiots." Sherlock shrugged a shoulder.

John started laughing, his hand still linked with Sherlock's. His hand was strong and pale, and felt right in John's hand. "I bet they were."

"Okay, now you." Sherlock said, his dark curls falling over his eyes.

John pursed his lips. What could he say? He was rather boring when he thought about it. "Er...I'm John Watson, my middle name is a secret I will take to the grave and I'm studying to be an army doctor. I like the colour blue, but dark blue, like the sea. I have a younger sister who's seventeen, and she's not doing too well right now. She's drinking, doing drugs...but she wont accept my help, so I've just got to check up on her every now and then. I have no particular skills, and my music taste is weird. I like drawing, I think I'm fairly okay at it...I really don't know what else to say. I'm boring."

"Now, I wouldn't say that." Sherlock smiled, the action still feeling unfamiliar on his lips.

John laughed and rubbed his thumb across the back of Sherlock's hand. "Thanks. Look, do you, maybe, wanna try something? Because, I really do like you. You're unlike everyone else I've ever met and...I'd hate to go through life knowing I never tried."

"Patience, John. This is the first I've even held hands with a boy, I hardly think I'm able to jump right in." Sherlock said, but his words were not cruel.

"Of course! Your pace, always your pace." John smiled sweetly, hope blooming inside him.

"In that case, I would like to meet up again." He said, his words almost hesitant.

"Brilliant! You have my number, so drop me a call whenever. I work at the library Monday, Tuesday and Friday mornings. I work at the old folks home on Wednesday mornings and I'm at the cafe on Wednesday and Tuesday evenings. I get Thursday and the weekend off, so just give me a call and I'll meet you, or you can come here, or-"

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "You talk so much."

John blushed, embarrassment staining his skin pink. "Sorry. It sort of all just..comes out when I'm nervous or excited."

Normally Sherlock would find such a trait an annoyance. He liked silence, and preferred to only fill it with the sound of his thoughts or his music. Again, he was surprised by his own reaction to it, and instead found himself snickering, a warm feeling spreading through him. "Relax, John."

Sherlock finished his coffee and stood up, dragging John to the door behind him. He leaned forward and slowly, placed a gentle kiss on John's cheek, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. Leaning to whisper in his ear, Sherlock's voice blew against John's skin, making him shiver. "Besides, there'll be plenty of time in the future for...excitement."

With that, Sherlock opened the door and slipped out, as quick and lithe as a cat. He pulled the hood of his coat over his head and quickened his steps, and before John knew it he was gone, leaving almost no trace of himself behind. Running to the window, he saw Sherlock jump into a cab and drive off, the sky only just turning dark, despite the time.

The kiss left a tingle on his skin, and almost absentmindedly John trailed his fingers across it, biting his lip. "Oh, I certainly count on that."


	4. Trouble in the Library

Sherlock sat in silence on the way home, a smile on his face. His pale fingers tapped against his lips repeatedly as he stared out the window, thoughts buzzing through his head. Again, he felt that fluttering feeling in his stomach, only now he was beginning to enjoy it instead of question it. His body hummed with warmth, and he was a mix of exhilarated and shocked. _He'd_ kissed John, _he'd_held John's hands. For the first time, it seemed as if Sherlock actually made the first move, and that baffled him immensely. He didn't do this, he didn't just...like people. That didn't happen. Which left Sherlock to think of all the possibilities; he wasn't able to accept how John made him feel yet. Had John actually poisoned him? Unlikely. Head injury, personality disorder? No, no that wasn't right. No drugs, bad cigarettes or alcohol ingested...so what was it that made him drop the shields around John? It was still a mystery to him, but one that he was happy to solve. Excitement at the prospect of something new flooded through him, and he chucked the driver a note before climbing out the car, his long legs carrying him away. He walked into the fancy building, carefully making sure to not touch anyone if he could help it, but that wasn't much of a problem- they all avoided him anyway. Holding his head high, he didn't even realise he'd slammed into Molly. Molly was almost a friend to him, and she sat with him sometimes, if he wasn't locked away in his dorm room. She knew about the rumours, but still she ignored them, perhaps believing them not to be true, or not caring. He tolerated the girl-she was nice enough- but most days he was glad to be free of her.

Molly looked up at him, her soft brown eyes wide. Blush crawled along her face, and she blinked a few times, smiling nervously. "Oh, hello."

Sherlock gave her a grunt. "Yes. Sorry about that."

"W-what? Oh, oh right. Yes, it's fine." She giggled quietly, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow- what was funny?

"Okay. Bye." Sherlock nodded, as if to dismiss her. He went to move, but was stopped by a small hand on his chest.

Blinking, Molly withdrew her hand and stuttered, her throat closing up the way it often did around him. "Look, er, do you wanna...maybe do something...sometime?"

Sherlock thought about it. "What about Friday?"

"Friday..yeah, I'm free. So do you wanna?"

"Yes, I'd like that. Do you mind if I choose the place?"

Molly gave a startled laugh- Sherlock rarely agreed to do anything with her. "Yeah, yeah that's fine. Where do you wanna go?"

"The library. Meet me at my dorm at ten tomorrow morning."

With that, Sherlock stepped around her and walked off down the hallway, giving a smile to all those who dared to stare.

The harsh buzzing of John's alarm screamed in the once peaceful quiet, and he hastily flung a hand out and whacked it. When it finally shut up, he heaved himself up and groaned, stretching his arms out in front of him, wincing slightly as the action tested his muscles. It was seven am, the early daylight rays shone through his bedroom window, forcing him to squint and hold up his hands in order to see. Flinging his legs over the side of his bed, he walked to the shower, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair as he went. It was getting long now, beginning to curl around the nape of his neck and his ears. Turning the shower on, he jumped in and let out a little yelp as the cold water hit him, before transforming to warm water. Quickly, he washed his hair and body before jumping out and wrapping a towel around his waist, then getting dressed quickly. It'd been five days since he'd seen Sherlock, but they'd texted back and forth, and he found he enjoyed the other man's sense of humour and witty comebacks. His shift at the library started at half eight, which caused him to quickly guzzle down a barely-made cup of coffee and head out the door.

One car ride later, he was at the library, with a few minutes to spare. He always liked to be there a bit early, it meant he had just that little time of quiet, when hardly anyone was in, and he could stroll the rows contentedly. After pulling his glasses from his pocket to put them on, he saw a friendly face head towards him. Sally smiled, her dark brown hair bouncing with every step, the curls taking on a life of their own. Her skin was rich and smooth, the colour of light cocoa, and her eyes were deep brown, but looked joyful anyway. She pulled him in for a hug and grinned, her fingers plucking at his jumper.

"John, when will you learn to dress stylishly?" She asked, shaking her head.

John gave her a half smile, letting the comment slide. "I like my jumpers."

"I know." Sally laughed, a hand on her hip. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt which was missing a button, with a deep red cardigan, and a black pencil skirt, showing off the gentle curves of her body.

John knew she was pretty, but he knew the other side of her. She was nice to him, but he'd seen the way she could snap, and how that smile could turn into a sneer in a matter of seconds. Her soft brown eyes could switch to hard and cold when she was mad, and if he was honest, she kind of scared him like that. She didn't know about John, and he was positive that if she did, she wouldn't like him so much anymore.

"Anyway," he said, nodding his head. "I'm gonna go and sort out the books and stuff now, see you at lunch break?"

"Maybe even before." Sally winked at him and strode off, her hips swaying.

John let out a breath and strode away, his fingers trailing across the books. He loved the variety of old and new, soft and hard. Broken spines and books barely opened, all with stories and facts and poems and knowledge he'd still to discover. Smiling slightly, he bent down and began to fix them, making sure every one was in place and in good condition. He didn't know how much time passed, all he knew what that he'd only done two rows, and still had many to go, when he heard the deep familiar voice he'd begun to like.

Sherlock sat down on the chairs he and John sat at earlier. He knew John was working a shift today, he just didn't exactly know where he was. Molly had tried to talk to him the whole way here, driving them in her car. He muttered responses when he was able, mostly choosing to simply send her looks that kept her quiet. His head was far too full thinking about John and the prospect of seeing him. Molly sat in front of him, her long brown hair let loose from it's usual ponytail, where it cascaded down her back in gentle waves. As he looked at her now, he could see she'd added some lipstick, and Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

"Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before." He asked her.

Nervous, Molly played with her hands. She looked up at him with a smile that could be described at flirtatious. "I, er, refreshed it a bit."

Sherlock gave her a long oblivious look and shrugged, deciding the matter wasn't of importance anymore. Molly sighed and stood up, her voice weary. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Sherlock waved his hand, dismissing her. It was only then when she'd left that he felt a hand land on his shoulder, and he whipped his head up to see who it was. John stared down at him, his large glasses halfway down his nose. His jumper was beige and fluffy, and his smile softened Sherlock's face.

"Can you not keep away?" John laughed, his voice teasing.

Sherlock gestured for him to sit down in the empty seat, which he did. "It's a library. People come to libraries."

"Yes, but you came to my library, even when it's not closest. When I'm working." He said, smirking.

"It appears you've already trapped me, John Watson."

Grinning wider, John shook his head. "Who's that you're here with?"

"The girl?" Sherlock asked. "That's Molly."

"Friend of yours?"

"I don't have friends."

John nodded, his face slightly crestfallen. "So who is she? A date?"

Sherlock felt his lips pull into a smirk. "Jealous?"

Fire crept across his skin. "No."

"If you say so. She's someone I go to uni with. Sort of a friend."

John nodded in relief. "Does she know?"

A curt shake of his head. "No."

"Okay." John looked up, curiosity in his eyes. "So why did you come?"

A tilt of the head. "I don't know. You're a puzzle to me, John. Something I have to figure out. You're on my mind constantly-it's annoying."

Laughing, John crossed his legs. "Would it make a difference if I said you've been on mine?"

"Have I?"

"You left quite the impression. Hard to forget." John said, his voice soft. His fingers trailed up to his cheek, the memory of the kiss flashing through his mind.

Sherlock felt something stir in him, and he had the wildest feeling to do it again, to kiss John. Alas, Molly chose that moment to reappear, her hair swishing.

"Sherl-" She saw John. "Oh...I'm sorry, who are you?"

John cleared his throat and stuck out a hand. "John. I work here."

Molly shook it politely. "Are you a friend of Sherlock's?"

"You could say that. Except I'm not sure he has fr-"

"Yes." Sherlock said, eyes meeting with John's. "He's my friend."

John's heart almost missed a beat, and he had to force his eyes away from those ice blue ones. "Oh, God, sorry! I'm in your seat!"

John stood up and let Molly sit down, noticing the way she stared at Sherlock. She seemed to angle her body towards his, as if begging for him to notice her, but it wasn't intentional.

Sherlock looked at her again and pursed his lips. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly looked down. "It wasn't working for me."

Frowning, he shrugged. "Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now."

Molly sagged in the seat, hurt flashing across her eyes, but of course Sherlock missed it. He noticed Molly, noticed her existence, but he didn't _notice_ her. Ever. John looked at Sherlock, anger in his eyes. How could someone be so rude? Was he playing, or was he really that unobservant to the simple things? The poor girl, she at least deserved him to be polite to her.

John was just about to say something when a light brown hand snaked around his shoulders, and strangely, the musky smell of deodorant wrapped around him like a blanket. Sally tilted her head, deep brown curls brushing against his face. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist, giving it a quick squeeze. He only meant it as friendly, but he never knew how it would be taken with Sally. Her brown eyes surveyed the situation, and her voice was playful.

"Skiving off work, John?" She asked, long fingernails tapping against his sweater.

John laughed nervously, eyes flitting to Sherlock's for a second. Sally was his manager, if she thought he really was skiving she could fire him, which was exactly what he didn't need. "Sorry, I'll just get back to-"

"John, relax!" She laughed, her other hand reaching across to hang on to the front of his jumper. He tried not to squirm, but it was uncomfortable to him. He was used to Sally's little teases, but this was something else. "The books have been rearranged by Sarah anyway, you can take some time to talk to your friends. I'm Sally, by the way."

Molly smiled sadly. "Molly. Look, I'll be going home now anyway. Sherlock, you want a lift?"

"No, I think I'll stay." Sherlock didn't say goodbye as Molly left, and instead surveyed Sally. "Nice to meet you, Sally."

Sally reacted to the coldness in his voice, unleashing some of her own. "Yeah, you too."

Sally rubbed her hand slightly on John's chest, giving him a smile. "How'd you too meet?"

"C-coffee shop. Bumped into each other by mistake, got a coffee." John said, clearly uncomfortable.

"Okay," She said, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. "What do you do?"

"Oxford University. I study criminology and psychology, but it'll child's play when you're a genius." He threw the comment out as a challenge, one Sally was oh so willingly to engage in.

Sally's eyes narrowed. "That's a bit full of yourself, isn't it?"

"It's the truth." He said simply. He was burning inside, the sight of her draped around John infuriating him beyond what he thought was possible. He only just let himself begin something with John, and here she was, acting as if she owned him? It angered him, rage a fire pumping through his veins.

"Yeah well, my John here, he's smart. Doctor in training, you know?" She said, pride in her voice. "And he's so strong, I mean you should see the amount of training he does for the army- he's fit. Guess you genius's are too busy with studying to work out. "

Sherlock fumed, but he kept his voice quiet, a tiny bit of a sneer appearing. "Oh, I don't doubt that. But John can't deduce."

"Deduce?" She asked, her left hand moving up to twiddle John's hair around one finger.

John shivered in half disgust, half fear. "Oh God."

Granted permission, Sherlock began. "You're a whore. How do I know that? You reek of it. When I walked in here, I walked past a man who works here, Anderson, going by his name tag. Never liked that name. Tall, weedy, greasy black hair...and he was wearing men's cologne. Before you ask how that proves anything, let me just clarify- _you are also wearing it_. Your blouse is clean, obviously new from the colour and perfect seams, but the top button is popped, showing it was ripped off in a hurry, with force. More than you'd have just taking your blouse off anyway, am I right? You made the mistake of wearing a skirt today, which, to your disadvantage, shows your knees. They're a little scraped aren't they? Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you just went round to that man's house for a nice cup of tea, and I assume you scrubbed his floors while you were at it. And I'm sure you just happened to accidentally pop a button, and stay over, so you couldn't change clothes when you hurried to work in the morning. I'll bet that bruise on his neck he failed to cover was just an accident- nothing of your fault, of course. I'm sure of that, but I'm also very sure of this: You are a whore, and your sights are undoubtedly set on John Watson, who you're currently draping yourself over like he'll be gone tomorrow."

Sally's mouth dropped in shock and for the first time in her life she was speechless. Words refused to form in her mouth, too distracted by the thoughts rushing through her head. How the hell did he know about Anderson? How did he get all that? She turned to face him, abandoning John to glare at the dark haired man. "How do you know about us? Are you spying on us you creepy pervert?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, obviously. I just happen to be able to see the obvious, that's all. And it's not really me who should be feeling bad is it? I mean, Anderson's wife being away and all."

Sally turned pale, and her voice was a whisper. "What?"

Giving her a sly grin, Sherlock clasped his hands underneath his chin. "Wedding ring mark. Shows he wear it most of the time, but takes it off when the wife's out. How do I know it's not just a divorce, or a break? Easy- for you and Anderson to continue working in the same place I assume, going by normal social standards, that he continues to sleep with you, instead of a string of partners. However, the wife can't be away for long, otherwise a frequent visitor like you would have some of her own supplies over at his house, for convenience. You came in looking like that, which all points to his wife being away. Shouldn't you be feeling just a bit guilty?"

Sally looked at him, anger raging through her. How dare he say that to her! He had no right to do that! "Listen here, you freak! Ii don't know how you know any of this, but I want you out of this library! And don't you ever come back again!"

Sally was yelling now, and seconds later Anderson ran up, with his beady eyes and protruding nose like a hawk. "Sally, what's wrong?"

He went to touch her, but she hit him away with a snarl. "Don't touch me! Get him out, now!"

Sherlock held up a hand, a smile on his lips. "I have no interest on staying anyway. Goodbye, John."

Sherlock walked out, hands thrust deep into his pockets. He couldn't see his face, but he could bet that the bastard was smirking, having won the argument. John groaned and turned to Sally, ready to apologise, but she cut him off.

"Don't. I'll let you have this one warning, John. If he comes in here again, then you're fired, and banned. Okay?"

John felt like he'd been punched. He couldn't afford to lose this job, he needed it to help pay for the apartment, otherwise he'd be forced to find a roommate. "Sally-"

"I mean it, John." Her voice was steel.

"Okay. Look, do you mind if I just go get him? I can maybe talk some sense into h-"

"Whatever. Just go, I don't care right now."

With that, John spun on his heels and headed out the door, crashing straight into the arms of Sherlock, who smiled down at him pleasantly.

"Ah, so nice to see you've joined me." He said, clapping John on the shoulder.

Glaring at him, John felt his voice go very calm. "Get in the car right now."

"We going somewhere?"

"My place. I can't hit you out in public, you arrogant son of a bitch."

Sherlock frowned slightly and sighed, walking towards the car. "I'm in trouble?"

"Lots."

Unlocking the car, the got in and drove away, anger seeping out of John from every pore. There was nothing but silence, except this time it wasn't the good kind.

**Hey everyone! Thankyou to all who've been reading this, by the way. I'd just like to say that if you like it then give me a review or a follow or a favourite, just anything to let me know I'm doing good! If you've got any criticisms or things you don't like I'll also be happy to take those on board. So yeah, thanks for everything, please do let me know what you think because I've had some views but 0 fav/follows/reviews, so it would mean a lot c: Thanks!**


	5. An unexpected kiss

John slammed the door to his apartment behind him. It clattered against the doorframe with a deafening bang, but he didn't care. Sherlock was watching him, assessing his movements. He didn't want to fight John, but he would if he had to. The blonde haired man stormed forward, his finger pointing towards Sherlock.

"You!" He cried. "What the hell was that back there?"

"What? Oh, with Sally?" He asked, his words careless.

"Yes, with Sally! You called her a whore, Sherlock!" John shouted, his hands waving in the air.

Sherlock rolled his eyes- people could be so dramatic. "Well she is! I just noticed it!"

"No, Sherlock. You didn't just _notice_ it, you fucking shouted it out! You embarrassed her!"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Why did you even have to do anything?!" John's face was turning red with the effort to keep his voice under screaming level. He itched to slam the boy against the doorway and shout in his face, but he knew then it'd probably end in a fight. He didn't want that.

"Because, John," He hissed, his ice eyes shining. "She called you _hers_."

John blanched for a few seconds as the thought hit him. He was jealous? Sherlock was jealous? As much as he was annoyed, a little slither of warmth ran through him. "As opposed to what, being yours?"

Sherlock stopped and took in a breath, trying to sort out his head. "No, not being mine. I just didn't like the way she was draped all over you, and if I'm mad...I go for their weakest spot."

John sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to focus on staying calm. "Your little outburst nearly cost me my job, Sherlock."

A raised eyebrow. "What?"

"She said that if you're banned from the library. Also, if she catches me hanging out with you, or sneaking you into the library or whatever, then I'm fired." John groaned, head in his hands. What could he do?

Sherlock was silent then shrugged. "You can get a new job."

John whipped his head up, anger raging through him. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd grabbed Sherlock and flung him against the wall. He raised his fit to punch him, but Sherlock grabbed it before it hit his face, stunning John long enough for Sherlock to hook his leg behind John's and knock him to the floor. Adrenaline pumping through him, his hand shot out and he grabbed Sherlock's other leg, pulling quickly so the tall man also fell to the floor. The gripped on to each other- John trying to hurt, Sherlock trying to defend. Tumbling across the floor, John was seething, but the red covering his vision was slowly, fading. He ended up straddling Sherlock, his fists clenching the fabric around his shoulders.

Leaning down, John's voice was almost a whisper. "You fight good."

"As do you." Sherlock was panting. John wasn't heavy, in fact he felt comfortable on top of Sherlock, and that thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"You know," He said, their noses almost touching. John's glasses had fallen off at some point during the fight, and his hair was mussed. It was a tiny bit sexy. "You are a complete dick."

Sherlock chuckled, the sound sending deep vibrations through his chest. "You like it."

John grinned and thrust forward, his lips touching Sherlock's. Startled, but content, Sherlock felt his hand slide to John's chest, the feel of his heart like a drum beat. "Sorry. Wanted to do that."

Sherlock gave him a smile, a simple upturned corner of the lips, but it was enough to drive John crazy. "Then why did you stop?"

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's again, this time opening them slightly. Granted access, John's tongue traced lightly across Sherlock's bottom lip, teasing him. His hand moved up and tangled in those dark curls, and all he could think about was Sherlock. Groaning, Sherlock shivered as John pulled him closer, their tongues brushing against each other's lightly. The taste of John filled his mouth and he slung an arm around the blonde man's neck, pulling him closer. He had no idea how he was doing any of this- he'd never had anyone who wanted him before, but he knew that with John it just felt _right_, like he knew exactly what he had to do. Gasping, they broke apart, taking in great gulps of air.

"Sherlock," John wheezed, laughing slightly. "You can kiss."

Sherlock kissed along John's jaw, excitement coursing through him at John's moan. "Does this mean" He said through kisses. "I'm-" Another kiss. "Off the-" Kiss. "Hook?"

A chuckle escaped John as he hugged Sherlock closer, fingers still tangled in his hair. The feel of his soft lips made exhilaration explode through him, a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. "Oh God, no. But we'll find a way to make up for it."

Sherlock bit at John's bottom lip, his hands itching to slide up that jumper. "I think I know a way."

He kissed John again, sitting up so John could wrap his legs round Sherlock's hips. He raised them both, his hand holding John to him, moving him towards the bed. As they flopped onto the large double bed, Sherlock tugged at John's jumper, flinging it to the floor. He hands made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, and that too was soon discarded. John himself unbuttoned Sherlock's top and threw it to the side, his eyes widening at the sight of his lean body. He wasn't obviously muscled like John, who had been working out for his training, but he had natural muscle.

He ran a hand down Sherlock's pale chest, their lips moving together in a pattern just for them. They broke apart and John smiled against Sherlock's lips. "How long have we known each other?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his eyes fighting to look at John's instead of his chest. "About a week. Roughly."

John laughed, their noses rubbing together slightly. "Bonkers. Absolutely bonkers."

"Yet you're still here." Sherlock said, looking at John above him.

John smiled, and Sherlock could practically hear the wink in his voice. "So are you."

"You interest me, John Watson." Sherlock said, brushing his lips together. "There are not a lot of things in this world that do that...so when I find something that does, _I don't let it go._"

"You," He said, kissing Sherlock's lips. "Drive-" Kiss. "Me-" Kiss. "_C__razy_."

Still straddling Sherlock, John broke apart from Sherlock's lips and kissed along his jaw, leaving a trail of fire behind him. His lips pressed softly against his pale white skin, moving slowly down to Sherlock's chest. Sherlock gasped the lower John got, his lips rapidly reaching the waistline of Sherlock's boxers.

"John!" He gasped.

John could feel the ridge of Sherlock's erection against his skin and grinned, coming back up to kiss Sherlock lightly on the lips. "Slowly. I know, your pace. I promise."

Sherlock closed his eyes and attempted to slow his breathing, which was considerably hard since John was still straddling him. He opened his eyes. "Thank you."

John kissed him again on the lips and swiftly climbed off Sherlock, lying next to him instead. He intertwined their fingers and scooted closer, their shoulders touching.

John shook his head and chuckled. "You know I never do this. God, usually it's like three, maybe a month of dating that I do this. But you...you're in my head. Always. I'm crazy for you, Sherlock."

_Crazy for you._ Sherlock sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth that spread through him. He was so alone, thrown aside by everyone. He was rude, and arrogant and he didn't know how to feel like someone normal, and it was these things that cast him aside, and shoved him away. He'd always tried to act like it was him who was leaving _them_, like he didn't want to be accepted. But he did, oh he did. And for once, he found someone who accepted him.

"Hearing you say that...it's amazing. Thank you." He said, his voice barely a whisper. "I seem to think about you quite a lot, too."

John turned his head to the side, leaning into Sherlock's body. "So...are we in a relationship?"

"I think...that requires a first date, doesn't it?"

John smiled against Sherlock's skin. "So if we have a date, and it goes well, then you'll be my boyfriend?"

_Boyfriend_. Such a foreign word to him, but nonetheless welcomed. "Yes. And you'd be mine."

"Good. I like that sound of that." John draped an arm across him. "Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"Will you stay with me today? I don't think I'm going back to the library for this shift." John asked, his voice soft.

Sherlock looked down at him, weighing his options. He'd already blown one day of studies, could he afford to blow another without Mycroft noticing? "I can't. I have to get back to uni."

John sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah okay."

Sherlock pushed John off gently and sat up, reaching down the side of the bed to get his shirt. He stood up and pulled it on, running a hand through his hair. John also was buttoning his shirt back up, but he left the jumper on the floor. He scratched his head, the flyaway strands standing up in all directions. They walked into the livingroom, and John picked up his glasses from the floor, setting them on the table.

"You only wear them when you're reading." Sherlock said, noticing John's actions.

"Yeah." John sighed. "You want some coffee before you go?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No thanks."

He took John's hand and pulled him close, tilting his head. He kissed John slowly, their lips parting slightly as they savoured the taste of each other. Breaking apart, Sherlock closed his eyes in a slow blink and opened them, letting out a breath. "I like that. We have to do that more often."

John laughed and shook his head in amusement. "We will, promise. Now get to uni, and don't forget to text me."

Opening the door, Sherlock planted a soft kiss on John's lips and pulled back. "I won't. Goodbye."

Shutting the door behind him, John lay his forehead against the door and sighed, fighting the urge to melt into a puddle. He could still feel Sherlock's touch on his skin, could still taste him on his lips. He knew that it was strange, to be feeling like this towards a stranger that he knew very little about, but he couldn't fight it. It was like every part of him was just attracted to Sherlock, they just seemed to fit together. He couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling that they were going to be together for a very long time.


	6. A messy door

Sherlock walked through the hallways, heading towards his dorm room. Again people avoided him, inching away as he walked. Some snickered, whispering to their friends. It didn't bother him this time; his head was only filled with John. The taste of him, the feel of his hands on his chest... Sherlock smiled slightly, avoiding the eyes of the students.

"Queer." A voice shot out from behind him.

Sherlock wavered, but didn't stop. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction this time. He took a deep breath and kept walked, turning the corner towards his dorm. As he got to his door, Sherlock froze. Someone had written the words 'faggot' all over it in bold black ink, and he felt his heart stop. Sherlock felt his breath come out raggedly as he stared at the word, written repeatedly everywhere. He didn't know how long he stood there, the hurt battling with the happiness he held minutes before. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, but he didn't move.

Molly bit her lip, staring at the door. "Oh, Sherlock..."

"And I was having such a good day." He whispered, his fingers trailing across the ink, following the harsh lines of the letters.

"Here, I'll help get it off. I've got wipes in my bag." Molly reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of baby wipes, pulling a few free before setting the packet back. She passed Sherlock one, holding her hand against his for a few seconds, hoping for a reaction. When she got none, she withdrew her hand and bent down to begin wiping it off.

Sherlock began to violently scrub at the words, hatred like a fire inside him. It surged through him in great waves, only lightening when he successfully got rid of the word.

Molly wiped at it softly, watching the black ink stain the wipe as she erased it from his door. "Nevermind them, Sherlock. There just teasing, you're not actually gay...a-are you?"

Sherlock ignored her, still scrubbing at the words. He had to get rid of them, he had to make it clean again. Why was it so hard to get off?

"Sherlock?" Molly looked up at him in fear, doubt creeping into her mind. Were the rumours true?

He looked down at her, the only person he had in this school. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "No. No, I'm not gay. I'm just...alone."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, the door now clean. She wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled it down gently, away from the door. She plucked the wipe from his pale hand and shoved it into her pocket, leaving his hand hanging there. Hesitantly, she wrapped her hand around his and squeezed it comfortingly. Sherlock stared at her hand then back to the now clean door. He reached out with his left hand and pushed the door open, glad to see the inside of his room was exactly as he left it. He walked inside, only realising that Molly still held onto his hand when she was also inside the room. She pulled him to the bed, sitting on the edge.

"Who did it, Sherlock?"

"I don't know." He said, his voice quiet.

"Yes you do." She said, her hands reaching towards his.

Sherlock pulled his hand away before it touched Molly's and sat it on his lap. "Jonah. He did this. It's always him."

Molly drew her hand back and stared at him, seeing the sadness in his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to hug him, to hold his body to hers and fight away his fears, free him of his loneliness. But he wouldn't let her inside. He wouldn't let anyone inside. "H-have you told anyone?"

Sherlock scoffed. "What would I say? Even the lecturers believe I'm gay."

Molly crossed her legs and fiddled with her thumbs nervously. "But you're not, though. It's okay, Sherlock. You're normal."

"Molly, when have I ever been normal?" He asked her, turning to look at her with tears in his eyes.

She flung her arms around him tightly and buried her face in the crook of his neck, keeping back tears herself. "Sherlock, I have known you for four years. In those four years, I've been with you a lot, and I _know_ you're not gay. You're just, just...asexual! A-and you're too smart, and people find that threatening, and it's all rumours!"

Sherlock wished it was John's arms instead of Molly's. It was true- he'd known Molly for four years, yet her attempts at comfort only made him long for John more. Molly wasn't right, she didn't fit. Her arms were too skinny, too small. He didn't wrap his arms around her, instead choosing to lean into her. That felt wrong, too; Molly's chest wasn't the smooth muscle he'd been accustomed to earlier, her's was soft and curvy and...wrong. He eventually leaned back, feeling her arms withdraw back slowly. She had a small smile on her face, and her wavy brown hair was tucked behind one ear. Her brown eyes looked into his hopefully, and she blinked nervously.

"Why...why don't we hang out more? If p-people see us then maybe they'll stop with all this."

Sherlock rubbed a hand across his forehead and looked at her. "Okay. I suppose this makes us...friends, then."

Molly flinched. "I thought we were always friends?"

"Not really. I don't have friends." He said simply.

"Oh."

Sherlock glanced at her and groaned. "Have I said something wrong?"

Molly shook her head and gave him a weak smile. "No, it's fine."

Sherlock placed his hands under his chin and closed his eyes, anger still swaying through him. "Look, Molly. I'm going to go for a walk, can you just...cover for me? Say I'm ill or something, but don't put too much detail- only lies have detail...I don't feel like being here today."

"Oh, of course," She said, nodding slightly. Getting up to leave, she tried to remember the feeling of holding Sherlock, of actually being allowed to hold him. It felt almost euphoric, like finally being noticed after living your life in the shadows.

She opened the door, giving him a small wave before disappearing. Sherlock sighed and brought out his phone, a nokia 3310, and scrolled till he found John's number.

**I need you. Can I come by?**

**-SH**

A few seconds later, he got a reply:

**Of course. See you soon, genius.**

Sherlock smiled and stood up, walking towards the door. He flicked the lights off and locked the door behind him, fingers briefly brushing across the slightly stained wood. He clenched his jaw and walked away, glad that people split for him- it left him more room. Within a few minutes, he was back outside, holding a hand up for a taxi.

**Hey! I just wanted to thank you all for reading this, if you like what you're reading leave a review please! They keep me going :) Thank you! I'm only fourteen by the way, so if anything of the timeline is mixed up then let me know and I'll fix it.**


	7. Cuddles on the couch

John sat on the couch, waiting for Sherlock. He was worried- what could he need him for? What had he done? Worries swirled round in his head, different scenarios popping out at him, each one worse than the last. He glanced at his watch and groaned. Why did time pass so slowly when you needed it to move faster? He fiddled with his thumbs, perking up every time he heard a car outside, hoping it was his genius. Eventually, the door to his flat opened, and a weary Sherlock stumbled in, slamming it shut behind him. John stood up and rushed towards him, taking him in his arms. He held Sherlock against him then drew back, pulling him down onto the couch.

"Sherlock, what happened?" He asked, searching Sherlock's face for bruises or cuts. Thankfully, there was none, and he felt himself relax slightly.

Sherlock's voice was a whisper. "Jonah."

"Who's Jonah?"

"My biggest fan." Sherlock spat out bitterly, leaning into John's side.

"Sherlock, what did he do?" John asked, wrapping an arm around him.

"He wrote faggot all over my dorm door in thick black pen so everyone could see. I tried to get it all off, me and Molly, we-we scrubbed at it for ages but I can still, I can still see the words everywhere. When I close my eyes they're there, and I can hear their voices, shouting 'queer' at me and-" Sherlock broke off with a sob, his body heaving.

John's eyes were ablaze, and he held Sherlock to him, placing his chin on top of his head. How could someone do that to him? How could someone be so hurtful intentionally, just because he was different? "Sherlock. Sherlock, listen to me. Look, I'm here, I'm here, shh. It's okay. It's okay, Sherlock."

Tears streamed down his face and Sherlock buried his face in John's chest, seeking the comfort that only he could give. "I can't take it anymore, John. I-I can't! I've been shunned my whole life, cast aside like I'm nothing. And I think that if it was just that, I could manage. I'd be ignored, but people would inch away when I come near them. I was teased in every school I went to, and highschool...every day I was slammed into lockers, and they'd shout at me. Tell me I was the freaky gay boy, the _wrong_ one. The teachers tried to stop it, but they never really manage, do they?So I was left for six years to endure it, but honestly? I'd take that over this. Those were kids, but in uni...it's adults, John. Adults who still treat me like I'm some freak. They whisper such nasty things when I walk by, they talk like they know me when they've never even said hi. It hurts, when I have to go back to things like that, or when I see it scribbled somewhere. And nobody stops it, John- they all think it. They all think I'm this monster, this thing that needs to be locked away so it can't spread a disease. I'm so tired of it all, John, I just, I just-"_  
_

"Sherlock Holmes, listen to me right now. I want you to remember these words, okay? You are not a freak. You are not a monster, or creepy or wrong. You are just wrong for them. For me? You're right. You're perfect. You fascinate me, and you're the smartest person I know, and even though you're incredibly arrogant- I wouldn't change a thing about you. I am so, so sorry that you had to go through that, and listening to you right now, listening to what they do to you..It makes me want to rip their fucking heads off. You don't deserve this, none of it. You are so goddamn amazing, and unique and complicated and nothing like they say! So whenever they say something, or call you anything, I want you to do what you do best. Analyse their weakness, tell their secrets. Do whatever you have to do, because it makes me sick to know that I can't make this better for you. All I wanna do is make this better for you, Sherlock." John felt his own throat thicken with tears, and again was struck at how deeply he was affected by Sherlock's sadness. Never had someone stormed into his life so fast and left an impression like this. Yet even as he said the words, he knew every one of them was true.

Sherlock wasn't sure how, but somehow they were lying on the couch, Sherlock's head buried in the crook of John's neck. His hand was on John's chest, and the other man's arms wrapped around him tightly, holding his shaking body still. This was right, this was what he needed. As hard as Molly might try, she wouldn't be John. She wouldn't interest him or intrigue him, she wouldn't be in his every thought. Her body would never be as right as John's, her arms would never hold him the same way as the blonde boy's. John's words comforted him, and soon, Sherlock was able to slow his sobs down till they were just deep breaths. He still had two tears on his face, making their salty path past his cheekbones.

John raised a finger and wiped them gently away, placing a kiss on Sherlock's head. "You okay?"

Sherlock took a shaky breath and tested his voice. "Yeah. I feel better now."

John swept back Sherlock's hair lightly with his fingers, absentmindedly still soothing him. "Good. Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"Please phone me if anything like this happens again. I want to be there for you." John said, his other hand holding Sherlock's.

Sherlock shifted and tilted his head up. He felt John's hand cup his face and leaned into the touch. "I will. Thank you, for this. It feels nice actually having someone I can talk to."

John kissed his lips softly, his thumb stroking across Sherlock's cheekbone. "I'll be here. Always."


	8. Make me forget

**Beware: This one contains some frick-frack material! There's no actual sex, but there is trouser-snakes. If you don't like dirty stuff, slightly smutty stuff or the male reproductive organ, I suggest you give this one a skip, and imagine they had a nice game of monopoly instead.**

John and Sherlock lay on the couch, holding each other. For Sherlock, it was something new, and he liked it. Years of being ignored, and now John was fussing over him like he was the most important person in the world. He felt better having talked to John, and was even more surprised to find that John didn't even smirk or tease that Sherlock had cried. They lay together, limbs intertwined, simply holding each other, no need to talk. John nipped at Sherlock's ear till he turned round, then he planted another kiss on his lips.

"Sherlock?" He asked, his voice cool against Sherlock's cheek.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to stay here tonight?"

Sherlock didn't even hesitate. "I'd like that. Thank you."

John smiled. "It's fine. The beds a double so nobody will be stuck on an uncomfortable couch for the night."

"Okay. What time's it?"

"Er.." John looked at his watch. "Five."

"Should we eat?"

John kissed his cheek. "I can order something in or make something?"

"Whatever's easiest. I tend not to eat a lot anyway." Sherlock murmured, turning to give John full access to his lips.

John tilted his head and smiled, leaning down to brush their lips together. "I'll call something in."

Sherlock snaked a hand round John's neck and pulled him closer. "I'll pay."

"Nope. You're my guest, I'll pay." John put his lips close to Sherlock's, almost touching.

"I may or may not have got you fired. I think I pay this time."

John chuckled and nodded. "Fine. This time."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John, running his tongue along the bottom of John's lip teasingly. He then brushed his tongue against John's softly, their kiss turning slower and deeper. John moaned and Sherlock's hand went to the back of John's head, his fingers tangling in the thick blonde locks, pulling him closer. They'd shifted position till Sherlock was straddling John, his hand on either side of the blonde boy's face.

John broke away and laughed, a light chuckle. "This feels very familiar."

Sherlock leaned back down and kissed him, feeling John's hands move to his hips. He gripped onto him and moaned again as Sherlock kissed along his jaw, on his lips, down his neck. Reveling in his new-found skill, Sherlock felt like it was his body in control now, and no longer his mind. He felt his hand slide down to rest on John's chest, and his hips began to grind slowly forward and back, until John gasped.

"S-Sherlock, you may, uh, have to stop."

"Why?"

"I'm getting a bit, er, excited." John panted, Sherlock's hips still grinding against the ridge of his erection.

Sherlock bit at John's bottom lip lightly. "Good."

Silencing him with another kiss, Sherlock rocked his hips faster forward, feeling the bulge underneath him grow with every move. John groaned and within two seconds had flipped Sherlock so he was on the bottom, and John was once again straddling him. John moved his lips against Sherlock's, and let his hand trail further down. He gripped Sherlock's bulge through his jeans and felt him stiffen, excitement and pleasure bubbling inside him.

"This," He said, sliding his hand back up to tease at the band of his boxers. "Is payback."

John slid his hand down until there was only the thin fabric of Sherlock's boxers stopping him . He teased until Sherlock's hips bucked inadvertently, his eyes screwed shut.

"John, I advise you remove your hand b-before I get..." Sherlock seemed to struggle for words.

John kissed his jaw, before whispering in his ear. "Want me to stop? Always your pace, you know that."

Sherlock shook his head. "P-pace is fine, but I, uh, this is new and oh God it feels amazing."

John nodded, understanding. He slid his hand under Sherlock's boxers, rubbing his hand against the hard bulge in his boxers. He gripped it tightly and squeezed, moving his hand slowly up and down, watching as Sherlock arched his back and gasped. The more John moved his hand, the more pleasure coursed through him, until he physically felt he was going to explode. Sherlock tangled his hands in John's hair and pulled their mouth's together, kissing his fiercely. John's hand kept rubbing until Sherlock could practically feel every bone in his body scream for it, scream for John.

"Please," He gasped. "Make me forget."

John nuzzled his head into Sherlock's neck, his breath tickling his ear. "Are you sure? I thought you wanted to go slow?"

Sherlock moaned and bit his lip, something that John found incredibly sexy. "Just for tonight. Please."

John nodded and withdrew his hand, only so he could use it to slide off Sherlock's top. John kissed down his chest, using his hands to slide off Sherlock's jeans when he reached his hips. Sherlock's fingers made work of the buttons of John's shirt, and soon that, too, was discarded on the floor. He pulled John back up and bit at his neck, sucking slightly.

"If you give me a hickey, I swear to God-" John grumbled, but he was cut off by a kiss.

Sherlock's hands were roaming across his chest and down his back, leaving the skin feeling tingly and warm. John slid his own hand down and pushed down Sherlock's boxers, ready to make him forget. He wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's load and squeezed, making him gasp. Then, he moved his hand up and down, agonizingly slow at first, making Sherlock shiver and moan.

"Faster." It was an order.

John smiled against Sherlock's lips and pumped him faster, building up a rhythm until Sherlock's hips were bucking in time. Sherlock broke away from the kiss and threw his head back, trying to keep his groans under control.

John chuckled and nipped at his ear. "Be as loud as you want. We're the only ones on the top floor."

Sherlock felt his eyes screw up as he dragged his hands down John's back, pleasure building up in him. He had no control over his body anymore, it just seemed to be moving in time with John, who'd slowed down again until Sherlock felt like he was ready to burst.

"T-think I'm g-gonna..." Sherlock gasped out, fingers digging into John's back.

John grinned and pumped him one last time, squeezing hard.

Sherlock let out a cry and arched his back, euphoria flowing through him. A few seconds later, something warm landed on his stomach, and he felt drained. "That was..."

John laughed, pulling a tissue out of his pocket to clean Sherlock up. He chucked it in the bin and pulled the curly haired boy's boxers up, resting down beside him on the couch. "Bad? Good?"

"New. Just...wow." Sherlock heaved, his body feeling heavy. "I never thought it'd be that good."

John laughed and linked his fingers with Sherlock's, wrapping his arm around the boy's bare chest. "I think I now classify as a slut."

Sherlock chuckled breathlessly. "Nope. Sluts require multiple partners, as far as I know, you're only with me now."

"Yeah, but I've known you for like...two days. Three? That's a little slutty."

"Okay, just a bit." Sherlock laughed. "However, after our date, we'll be in a relationship, and by social standards that means you're not a slut."

"Can't wait." John laughed, his head of Sherlock's chest.

He could hear the rapid beat of his heart and smiled slightly; he'd never felt so right before in his life. With Sherlock, he finally felt like he met someone who could keep him interested. Who could show him new journeys and new ideas and take him away from the bleak whirlwind of studying and work. He needed that.

Sherlock leaned into John and sighed, his eyes closing in bliss. "I don't even really want food."

John shook with laughter against him. "Well I'm starving, so excuse me while I go eat some oreos."

Sherlock moaned when John sat up, wishing he could just force John to lie with him. Sadly, John had wondered in to the kitchen, and came out a few minutes later with some oreos in hand. Sherlock lifted his head. "Pass me my cigarettes."

"Where are they?" John asked after chewing.

"Jean pocket."

John scoffed-the jeans were right next to him, on the floor. Shaking his head, John bent down and patted the pockets till he felt a rectangular shape. He pulled the packet and lighter from them and flung them towards Sherlock A few seconds later, he was lying on John's couch, taking a drag from the cigarette. John tilted his head and bit his lip, admiring Sherlock's body and unruly hair.

"You know," He said playfully. "You look...really sexy."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, blowing out smoke effortlessly. "Really?"

"Yeah. As a doctor in training, I really shouldn't be saying that, but you just look so...rockstar. I like it."

Sherlock snickered and patted the space next to him, kissing John on the cheek when he sat down. "Thank you. For comforting me today."

John smiled. "Did it work?"

A rueful grin. Sherlock leaned over and placed his kissed John softly, their lips lightly brushing against each others. "I can't even remember why I was sad."


	9. Stay in

**Just to let you know, I changed some details. Sherlock went to the library on Friday instead of Monday now, so the boys have known each other for pretty much a week. Thanks for reading and stuff, don't forget to review! :)**

Sunlight streamed through the window, landing right on John's face. He groaned and sat up, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was eleven am. Swinging his legs out of the bed, John stood up and stretched, a giant yawn escaping his mouth. At the first sound, Sherlock's eyes whipped open and he sat up, eyes narrowed.

John laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Relax. It's only me."

Sherlock nodded and rubbed at his eyes, fighting back a yawn of his own. "Sorry, it's a habit."

John smiled and found his eyes straying towards Sherlock. He hadn't brought clothes to stay over, and John was at least a head smaller, so he was left to sleeping in his underwear. Not that John minded anyway. Sitting up, the sheets had fallen down, leaving Sherlock's chest exposed.

Sherlock caught him looking and smirked. "Anyone ever tell you staring's not polite?"

John snickered and crossed his arms. "When the person I'm staring at is lacking clothes and is in my bed I think I'm allowed to stare."

"Hm...nope. Sorry, still rude."

John rolled his eyes and sat on the bed, the springs sturdy enough to stay silent. "Whatever."

Sherlock reached an arm up and ruffled his hair, the action sub-consciously making John bite his lip. How could someone so smart not have a single clue how hot he was? "You have no work today."

"Correct. Do you have uni?" He said, his hand finding Sherlock's.

"No." Sherlock held back his smile at John's hand in his.

A lop-sided grin. "So a full day to ourselves, unless you have somewhere to be?"

"No, for today, I'm yours." Sherlock lay down and nestled into John, feeling his arm wrap around his shoulders.

"Good. Do you wanna get up yet?" John said, rubbing his arm along Sherlock's.

Yawning, Sherlock grumbled. "Yeah, okay. Mind if I have a shower?"

John nodded his head to the left. "Through that door. I'll make us some coffee."

Sherlock sat up and stretched, John watching the way the muscles in his back moved with the action. He stood up and walked towards the door, a smirk on his face; he knew John was staring. A few seconds later, he heard the shower turn on and stood up, lingering for a few seconds before walking into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He had two cups of coffee and four slices of toast sitting on the table by the time Sherlock came out, a towel folded tightly around his hips. John placed the butter knife down on the counter softly and found himself once again staring, his eyes soaking up every inch of Sherlock's body. His thick dark hair was dripping and extra curly, the droplets landing on his chest.

John shook his head and picked up the butter knife, getting back to buttering the toast. "You know, you shouldn't do that do people."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, sliding into a seat across from John. "What?"

"Come in all...hot and stuff. It's unfair on those who get distracted by beautiful things." John laughed, taking a bite of his toast.

Sherlock tilted his head._ Beautiful things._ Did he really count as that? Could someone really see him as beautiful? Maybe John was just pretending, just to test the reactions of a lonely sociopath. But even as Sherlock thought it, he knew it wasn't true- John didn't have that kind of malice in him. Smiling slightly, Sherlock took a sip of his coffee. "I think our ideas of beautiful are very different."

John chuckled. "Well, what's your idea of beautiful?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences and role models."

"That doesn't answer my question." John said, his eyes straying to Sherlock's chest again.

"My idea of beauty...I don't know. The people in my life have not been very beautiful." Sherlock waved his hand. "I don't mean looks of course, looks are nothing to me. You can't tell intelligence from looks."

"So, you like intelligence in others? Is that your turn-on?" John tilted his head and looked at Sherlock in amusement.

"I don't have turn-ons." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "I've been fairly asexual for most of my life, and all attempts at trying to discover what I liked, what _other's _liked, only got me in trouble."

John's face screwed up. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looked down, something akin to shame on his face. "Magazines...I read them, I didn't feel anything for the men in it. No emotions, or hormones, nothing. So I hid them, but my roommate found them."

John softened. "Just because you didn't feel anything for them doesn't make you weird, a lot of people are like that. What happened with your roommate?"

"He freaked out, started screaming. I told him to keep my secret, and I'd keep his. He didn't keep mine." Sherlock said quietly, sipping more coffee.

John stiffened in anger. Why was everyone so horrible to Sherlock? What could he have possibly done to deserve that? "What was his secret?"

"He was a she inside." He said, fingers tapping on the table rhythmically. "I didn't tell anyone, though. I should have."

John leaned over and took his hand, silencing the tapping. "No, you shouldn't have." Sherlock was about to tell John he didn't care about being the 'better person', when John completely surprised him. "Use it for leverage later when it really matters."

Sherlock opened his mouth and a laugh bubbled out, completely of its own accord. "John Watson, you don't seem the revenge type."

"Don't let the jumpers fool you, darling." John grinned and walked round behind Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, his chin resting in the crook of Sherlock's neck. He lifted his head and kissed him on the cheek, not minding when Sherlock's wet hair dripped onto his face.

Sherlock relaxed into John's touch and smiled faintly, an upturned corner of the lip. It was easy to miss, hardly counted a smile, but for Sherlock it was the same as a grin. "What are the plans for today?"

"Well, we could go out somewhere? Or stay here?" John said softly. "I suggest you choose now because the longer you're just sitting here with a towel on the longer I vote for staying in."

Sherlock chuckled and tilted his head. "Stay in. I've had enough of people for a while."

John nodded understandingly and kissed Sherlock's cheek. "Alright. Just means I get you all to myself. You okay with a movie?"

"Sure." Sherlock had no doubt the movie would be boring, and that he'd hate it. He'd obviously be bored, too, but if John wanted to he'd sit down and watch whatever it was.

"Good. Now you can go get changed or stay in the towel, each is good with me." John smiled against Sherlock's skin. "I'll go get everything set up."

Sherlock nodded and stood up, sipping from his coffee cup. As John rummaged around in the living room, Sherlock could hear the distinct whir and crackle of him getting his television and VCR to spring to life, and he chuckled. What clothes could he wear? He had the ones from yesterday, but they were crumpled, and needed a wash and iron. He couldn't just stay in the towel either, though. The next thing he felt was a pair of arms wrap around his hips, hands threateningly close to his towel.

"I took the liberty of washing your jeans and boxers while you were in the shower, and they should be dry now, if you'd like to go get them."

"John Watson, I could kiss you." Sherlock said, but then his brows furrowed. "What about my t-shirt? My jumper?"

John snickered behind him. "I'm not that selfless, had to keep something on show."

Sherlock smiled and turned around, placing his lips on John's. "You're my idea of beautiful."

John's cheeks tinged pink and he bit his lip, pulling Sherlock in for a hug. "Let's go watch that movie."


End file.
